


The Road to Recovery

by Mimozka



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Blackmail, But not at first, Complex relationships, Extortion, F/F, F/M, Family, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Violence, Hallucinations, Kid Fic, Mental Instability, Separation Anxiety, Torture, Violence, a n g s t, and love and sunshine, eventually there will be softness, graphic PTSD, if you're looking for sex you're gonna be disappointed, season 1 AU, so much angst and pain, the M rating is for graphic violence language and mental illness descriptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-12 14:52:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimozka/pseuds/Mimozka
Summary: At 19, Felicity Smoak accepts a dare from her college buddies that turns out to be the worst decision she could have made and it twists her life in ways she never thought possible.At 22, Oliver Queen gets on the Queen's Gambit with his father and nearly drowns in the North China Sea. In the months to come he often wishes that he did.At 21, Felicity sells her soul to the Devil to save her husband.At 27, Oliver returns home, haunted by the ghost of his wife.





	1. Felicity- M.I.T., 2007

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Please MAKE SURE TO READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU GO INTO THE STORY! This is a heavy read so please keep that in mind.
> 
> Characters' Ages have been slightly modified to better suit the story (i.e. Felicity and Thea are a couple years older than in canon). This story follows the events of S1 very loosely. Text in past tense = FLASHBACKS STORYLINE. Text in present tense = PRESENT DAY STORYLINE. To prevent it from getting too confusing - you will always have a date and location at the start of the chapter.
> 
> Updates will most probably be a weekly event on either Friday/Saturday evenings (timezone +2 GMT). Chapter length will most likely vary, sorry about that.
> 
> Big ass thank you to entersomethingcleverhere for beta-ing this beast for me and to Anita and Bev for letting me bounce ideas off of them.

**February 2007, Boston**

 

A nineteen-year-old Felicity entered the Dean’s office hesitantly. She was a top student on a full scholarship, who was doing both her undergraduate and master’s degrees at the same time. She was only several months away from graduation, but somehow she didn’t think she was being called into the Dean’s office to be congratulated on her work. If anything the call made from his office sounded like that meeting was going to be anything but pleasant.

If anything, the timing of the summons (because that’s exactly what this was) made Felicity even more antsy than necessary. It came right after a night of drinking and coding with her associates at Brother Eye. At the time hacking that NASA satellite seemed like a harmless enough idea. But by the way her hairs stood on the back of her neck after her call with the Dean, Felicity was starting to doubt that.

“Dean Collins?” she greeted the man, the uncertainty in her voice making it sound like a question. 

She swallowed and reached to tuck a strand of black hair behind her ear. She hated that she was unable to calm her anxiety. As of right now she had nothing to be worried about. She hadn’t done anything to be worried about. Hell, the dean might not even want to see her about the hacking. Her membership in Brother Eye was starting to make her paranoid. 

“Please sit down, Miss Smoak.” the voice that answered her, though,  was definitely not Dean Collins’. 

Felicity looked to her left, towards the person the voice belonged to - a woman. An impeccably dressed woman, with impossibly high heels and a very serious, stony expression on her face. Normally, Felicity would have offered some snarky remark, but this woman didn’t have the face of someone who had a sense of humour. She was standing next to the window and she approached the Dean’s desk as Felicity sat down in the single chair opposite to the Dean.

Felicity swallowed the bile that suddenly rose to the base of her throat.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Miss Smoak,” The Dean told her with an uneasy expression. “The matter we have to discuss is rather delicate.” 

Felicity’s expression must have betrayed her confusion because she could have sworn she heard the lady in heels scoff.

“This is Director Amanda Waller and she came to me with some rather alarming news last night,” the Dean continued, motioning towards the stern looking woman who was still glaring at Felicity.

Director Waller… That sounded important… Her business suit, heels and strict hairstyle also made her look important. The nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach only grew stronger but she’ll be damned if she gave either of them the satisfaction of seeing they got to her.

“Nice to meet you.” Felicity nodded briefly towards her. “What does that have to do with me?” 

“It has everything to do with you, Miss Smoak,” Director Waller interjected before the Dean could reply.  

As she spoke her glare morphed into a smile, but it was a sick kind of smile. The ones that Felicity gave out all too often to people whom she wished to put in their place but couldn’t. It was a predatory twist of Waller’s lips. As if she wished to throw dust in Felicity’s eyes with this pseudo-friendly gesture as she prepared to pounce on her like a lion.

Any and every sense of self-preservation Felicity had was suddenly on full alert. 

This meeting with the dean was indeed nothing like she imagined it would be. It was shaping to be much much worse.

“I work for a highly classified government organisation, Miss Smoak, one that is to remain classified no matter what. Last night, one of our top-secret satellites was hacked. Not even the President or the Department of Defense know about its existence just yet... “ Waller continued, her eyes zeroing on Felicity. 

“I still don’t understand what that has to do with me. I’m not a hacker,” Felicity said.

She felt like mentally patting herself on the back for that one. Technically it was true, though. Felicity and Brother Eye weren’t hackers. They were hacktivists. Hackers acted for their own benefits. Felicity had some bigger goal in mind. She was doing it to help people. Yet, she was perfectly aware that most would simply call this difference in meaning semantics, but to Felicity, it made a world of difference.

“Then how is it that when my team traced the I.P. address of the hacker it led me to your dorm room?” Waller asked with a downright sinister smile.

Felicity froze, whatever argument she was planning to make died in her throat. She knew exactly what Director Waller was talking about. She’d been with Myron, Cooper and the rest of Brother-Eye two nights ago. She also broke her cardinal rule: never drink and code. They’d had something to drink and one of the newer members had looked down on her (something Felicity was growing more and more used to) saying that she couldn’t possibly be as good as she claimed. Felicity had risen to his bait and told him to pick something for her to hack without telling her what it was and then sit back and watch as she worked her magic. 

What’s worse though, she was so determined to find out that she let her confidence in her skills and her desire to prove them all wrong to overshadow the rational part of her brain - that is, she didn’t cover her tracks properly. 

It took her hacking past the initial defenses and getting a glimpse of the content on her screen to realize that something was wrong. It looked nothing like a NASA satellite should and a couple of brief glances at the code on her screen told her that this was way above their organisation’s aims. She shouldn’t be there, she should have never attempted to hack it. She got out of there as quickly as she could, trying to delete as much of her trace as possible. She’d had a very bad feeling about this and she’d asked the guy what was it he’d just made her hack. 

She’d never gotten an answer then. 

_‘But you have one now,’_ she thought sarcastically.

Waller walked around Felicity’s chair, so that she was standing behind her now. Felicity could feel Waller’s hands come to rest against her back, on top of the backrest. She couldn’t help the way her upper body trembled, in spite of her desire not to give either of her interrogators the satisfaction of seeing that they were getting to her. There was just something about that woman that set Felicity on edge. She wouldn’t put it past Director Waller to reach for her neck and strangle Felicity from behind. 

“Miss Smoak, I’m afraid you need to pack your things and leave. Immediately. As of this moment you are no longer a student here at M.I.T. ,” Dean Collins said before Felicity could muster a reply to Waller’s inquiry. “We will not be associated with the likes of you. She’s all yours, Director.”

* * *

 

**February 2007, Undisclosed Location**

Felicity had no idea where she was. She’d tried to do the math in her head and estimate a location by calculating how many hours they’d been driving and their approximate speed, but that proved futile since she had no idea which direction they headed. The windowless van had taken extra twists and turns in the road that ended up confusing her.

“Are we there yet?” she asked cheekily.

If she was going to have to stew in her annoyance then the people around her would have to as well. That is… if they were people at all, because for all her attempts to socialize with them, the men guarding her didn’t so much as blink, let alone react to anything she said or did. They kind of reminded her of the tales she’s heard about the Queen of England’s Guard.

She was pretty sure one thing would elicit a response from them. She was certain an attempt to escape on her part would bring them back to life. Then again, she wasn’t stupid enough to try that. Somehow she doubted that they would see it as a joke and would just open fire on her, and no offence to them, but Felicity was way too young and way too smart to die in that way.

She fell silent afterwards, silently cursing the van’s driver over and over again in her head for every bump that they hit on the road. 

“ **“** _Lign in drerd un bakn beygl_! (Burn in Hell and bake bagels!*) **”** Felicity exclaimed loudly as they hit a particularly deep hole on the road, or so Felicity assumed, at least.

Now that earned her a blinding strike against her cheek from the guard sitting across from her. It happened so fast Felicity couldn’t even register when the guard moved to strike her until the sting of the blow was pulsing against her cheek. 

Felicity straightened her glasses and blinked a couple of times until her eyes focused. She zeroed in on her assailant and glared at him, wishing she could evaporate him with her eyes alone. 

She kept silent for a few minutes, the logical part of her brain telling her to keep her mouth shut because it would only earn her another slap, but then there was this other part of her. The one she attributed mostly to her grandmother, the part that refused to go down silent. She remembered clearly what her grandmother told her before she passed away: _“We survived the dilda natsis, we can survive anything, Mama’le, remember.”_

With the image of her grandmother’s smile in her mind and Bubbe Miriam’s words ringing in her ears, Felicity’s frown morphed into a sweet smile. Her eyes softened, but didn’t yield to her captor, her lips stretched into a smirk that showed just enough teeth to be anything but sincere.

“ _Geh cocken offen yom_ (go shit in the ocean),” she said sweetly. 

This time she saw the blow coming, but being cuffed to her seat, there was no way she could avoid it. 

Pain gave way to darkness.


	2. Oliver - Starling General Hospital, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is back home, carrying more demons than he can bear. He made it home.
> 
> He goes rigid at the thought, his vision blurring. He can’t see the hospital room anymore. It’s all blurred - there are only shapes and colours that shift around until they resemble a face. A kind smile. A pair of eyes that will haunt Oliver for the rest of his days. Then the image transfers into a touch, a shiver, crawling up Oliver’s arms right up his neck and stops at his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the point the story starts to earn its M rating. Tread with caution please. Oliver is very fucked up. 
> 
> This chapter starts at the same time as Arrow 1x01. Oliver's backstory of how he got to Lian Yu is mostly as in the show. Where there are differences they will be pointed out in time.
> 
> Italics is Oliver's inner voice (conscience) and occassionally also his hallucinations.

**October 2012, Starling City - Starling General Hospital**

 

The Starling City skyline looks remarkably familiar, yet nothing like he could recall from his memories. It’s the same he remembers seeing from his father’s office from when he visited as a child, and often as an adolescent. The bright lights of the skyscrapers are a stark contrast to the dark night sky. They are a sign of life. The city is different now; just like he isn’t the same man he used to be before he left.

He can hear voices coming from outside the door, the noises that accompanied the bustle of a hospital like Starling General. Years spent fighting to survive sharpened his senses to a somewhat painful degree. He does his best to tune everyone and everything out but to no avail.. There is a throbbing inside his head that seems to get  worse the longer he stays in the hospital. The machinery is too loud. The voices - too many. He was far too used to the silence of the Island. 

Oliver has been at the hospital for hours. They brought him in as soon as he landed in Starling City. When the medics strapped him onto a stretcher and wheeled him into an ambulance, he tried to explain that he didn’t need medical attention; he was fine. No one listened to him, predictably. He grit his teeth and sat through all the tests and screenings. 

“You’re malnourished, dehydrated…” a doctor tells him, the latter’s voice fading into the white noise of the hospital. “You’re not thinking straight.” 

They are wrong --  his mind has never been clearer. 

He barely speaks with the medical team, keeping it to nods and shakes of his head. If he is completely honest, Oliver is exhausted-- but not from the lack of sleep, rather, it’s a constant weariness that keeps getting heavier and heavier with time, when nothing gives.  

On particularly bad days he just wants it all to be over. He wants to be with  _ them _ .

Just like his city, he too changed in the last five years.  Gone is the privileged boy who threw money at all his problems. Gone is his carefree existence. Ollie died on that island and from his grave rose Oliver - a survivor, a fighter, a killer. This new Oliver has a plan, unlike Ollie who lived his life, floating from one thing to another. He knows exactly what he is going to do, now that he’s home. He has a promise to keep to his father. 

A mission.

_ Survive. Right my wrongs. _

His father’s words became a mantra. Even after he lost everything, his father’s last words come back to haunt him. They give him purpose. He has a promise to fulfill and a mission to see through. Once that’s done, only then, can he truly go home. 

Wincing at the memory of his father, Oliver looks away from the window. He avoids thinking about Robert as much as he can. It’s not that he doesn’t miss him but rather about what comes along with thoughts of his father - the thought of a life that slipped through his fingers. A naive hope that he should have never entertained to begin with.

Oliver lost a lot more than his father to that damned island. 

The doctor that’s in charge of his “case” insists that Oliver sees a psychiatrist, since according to him, Oliver is displaying “worrying symptoms of antisocial behaviour”. Oliver wants to laugh to his face when he hears that. A shrink can’t help him. No one can. 

He notices the three windows upon entering the office. Three possible escape routes. Three potential entrances for an attacker. The two leather love seats look like they’d provide temporary cover, perhaps long enough for him to get to the door and escape if he has to. The door has no visible lock, which means that if someone decides to barge in there would be no stopping them. The wall across from him - the one adorned with various diplomas - will prove useful. Glass shards are an effective weapon. Then again, so is the potted plant on top of the coffee table. It looks heavy. Heavy is good. Heavy means a better chance of a knock out.

A glance to his right reveals a desk, chair, computer and a bookcase that seem more for appearances’ sake than actual use - they are too far away to be of use, anyway.

Escaping the room will take him a good couple of minutes.

_ There are also snipers. Don’t forget about the snipers. You used to be one of them. _

Oliver winces and shakes his head. He doesn’t need the reminder. He remembers all too well.

He shifts in his armchair, which turns out to be exactly as uncomfortable as it looked. It’s also the only choice of seating Oliver considers since it is the furthest away from any of the windows.

“Mr. Queen, did you hear me?” 

The words seem to break Oliver out of his thoughts and remind him that he is very much not alone in the room. He blinks a couple of times, and then zeroes-in on the middle-aged man in front of him. 

“Mr. Queen was my father,” Oliver replies robotically. 

It's instinct at this point - the same reply he gave any of the medical staff that have treated him so far.

In part, he says it to avoid explaining why he isn’t paying attention, but at the same time these words ring true. He used to revel in someone calling him  _ Mr. Queen _ before the  _ Gambit  _ sank. It made him feel important - like he was finally noticeable, living outside of his parents’ shadows. Now,  _ Mr. Queen _ is nobody of consequence to him. His last name didn’t serve him any purpose on the island. It meant nothing. It’s  _ Oliver _ who had to do the surviving, the saving, the living. It’s  _ Oliver _ who had to make it back home.

“ _ Oliver, _ ” the doctor amends, “I understand that the last five years must have been very difficult - “

Oliver scoffs, effectively cutting the other man off. That has to be the understatement of the century. ‘Very difficult’ would have been to break into Fyers’ camp in broad daylight, or hunt in the river with a rusty hand-made spear. ‘Very difficult’ would have been to survive on Lian Yu without Slade and Shado’s help.

But of course, the doctor doesn’t need to know that. It seems that fate agrees with Oliver since there’s a knock on the door before the doctor could inquire further into Oliver’s behavior. The man grimaces and places his pad and pen carefully onto the coffee table. 

“Come in,” he says.

A harried-looking nurse rushes inside and heads straight for the doctor, not sparing Oliver so much as a second glance.

_ ‘There’s a first’,  _ he thinks. 

She whispers something in the doctor’s ear too quietly for Oliver to hear, but the sour expression on the doctor’s face tells Oliver all he needs to know. His time away taught him more than how to fry fish, build shelter, and find water. Most of it consists of lessons and skills Oliver wishes he never had to learn.

Oliver brings his attention back to the doctor when he hears him clear his throat.

“Mr. Queen, it seems that you have a rather insistent visitor that’s demanding to see you right away,” the doc says, the grimace returning to his face. “Apparently, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” 

The first thing Oliver feels is relief that he won’t have to be subjected to a shrink and that he’ll finally get to go home.

That annoying voice that reminded him earlier about being alert for snipers chimes in again:

‘ _ You’ve been gone for five years, they found a way to move on without you. How can this be your home when you feel like a stranger in it? You left your home three years ago.’  _

Oliver wishes that voice belonged to a solid body so that he could punch it. Instead he settles on sighing, getting up from his chair and thanking the psychologist for his time with a smile that’s too wide to be sincere. 

The nurse shuffles behind him and hurries to follow him out of the room with a quick, “Follow me, Mr. Queen.”

Oliver walks slowly on purpose. He knows exactly who is waiting for him - there is only one person who could inspire such distress with their demands that he knows of - his mother.

A part of him is excited to see her. He waited and dreamed of seeing her again for the past five years. He dreamed about hugging her and feeling that sense of serenity that only Moira’s arms could give.

Yet at the same time he doesn’t want her to see him. If it were up to him he would have let her remember him like he was before the  _ Gambit _ \- whole and without a care in the world.

_ And a giant tool, too. -  _ that voice again. Oliver wishes he knew how to shut it up.

He is dreading the questions he’s going to be subjected to. The  _ what _ ,  _ when _ ,  _ how _ ,  _ why…  _ all things he can’t answer for one reason or another. The medical staff must have told her something. He hopes it isn’t anything too bad related to his health. He doesn’t want her to worry about futile things that she can’t change. Because that‘s the truth - no amount of money and connections could restore his physical health back to what it used to be, let alone his mental one.

The nurse comes to a halt in front of his room and gestures for him to go in. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even realize when they walked all the way from the Psych ward to the General one. He berates himself silently for his lack of observation. It is too easy to get lost in his own demons. That’s why he prefers to tune them out as much as he can. That’s why he avoids sleep for as long as he can (sleep is pointless anyway, since the nightmares keep him awake). That’s why he prefers to hit stuff… or people. Hitting people, especially ones who deserve it, is the more satisfying of the two.

He opens the door and Moira Queen is the first thing he sees. She is standing ramrod straight with her back to him, looking out at the Starling skyline much like Oliver himself did  not too long ago. Looking at her, it’s like no time has passed at all. Her silhouette is just as he remembers it to be - regal, with not a hair out of place.

He waits until the door clicks quietly behind him and he is sure that they are alone before he calls out to her.

“M-mom?” His voice comes out as an unsteady whisper. 

His mother turns around to face him quicker than he thought she could move and with an impatience she rarely (if ever) displays. She blinks at him a couple of times, opening her mouth and then closing it, not knowing what to say. One of her hands clutches at her chest as the other one holds onto the windowsill for dear life. 

Oliver is trembling, part in fear, part in anticipation. He is so close to her he can smell her perfume - a fragrance that he forever associates with her. He can see the wrinkles around her eyes - the small chink in her otherwise impeccable armour that betrayed the fact that behind the intimidating gaze and perfect appearance is just another woman, no different than anybody else. Oliver is afraid he scared her. He knows he looks nothing like the young man she remembers. Gone were the light long hair, the smug grin and lanky build. In their place came tanned skin, cropped hair worthy of someone in the military and a shit load of scars. More than she could ever hope to see.

Moira lets out something that sounds between a gasp and a hiccup and the next thing he knows she is hugging him before he could stop her. She is squeezing him to her just like he remembers her doing when he got lost at the beach when he was nine years old. She still hugs him the same even though he is towering over her now and she has to stand on her toes to reach around his neck.

Oliver bends down to accommodate her and it is only once he looks down that he realizes that he is not hugging her back.

Three years without decent human contact and affection would do that to a person. 

He brings his arms around his mother’s torso and squeezes.

Moira sobs against him, it seems that his shaking transferred onto her.

“My beautiful boy!” She exclaims breathily into his shoulder. “My sweet boy.” 

Oliver lets himself inhale the familiar scent of her shampoo and his posture relaxes as he does. 

He made it home. 

He made it home, at last! 

_ Have you though? Have you really? _

He goes rigid at the thought, his vision blurring. He can’t see the hospital room anymore. It’s all blurred - there are only shapes and colours that shift around until they resemble a face. A kind smile. A pair of eyes that will haunt Oliver for the rest of his days. Then the image transfers into a touch, a shiver, crawling up Oliver’s arms right up his neck and stops at his ears.

_ Oliver _ , -  it becomes a whisper.-  _ Oliver, you _ **_promised_ ** . 

Feeling as if someone stamped a white hot iron into his skin Oliver pushes back against his restraints. That voice sounds exactly as it should. From the pitch to the diction to the emotion behind it. Each word it spoke feels like a stab through his chest. 

He is on the Island again. Trapped. Alone. Fyers’ camp. Wintergreen cutting into him again and again. He didn’t get out. They will never let him leave. 

“Stop,” Oliver whimpers. 

_ Oliver. _

“No, please, please!” Oliver begs, his fingers clutching and pulling at his hair in desperation.

_ Oliver, Oliver, Oliver… _

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Oliver sobs, backing away quickly until his back hits the solid wall.

“OLIVER!”

The voice grows stronger the more Oliver tries to resist it. This time however, it’s also accompanied by pressure on both sides of his arms. Painful pressure. As if someone is trying to… restrain him! 

Instinct kicks in and Oliver starts thrashing. He won’t let Wintergreen get him. Not again. Never again. His effort makes him dizzy, breathing becomes a chore and the sinister black and yellow mask turns into a blur. 

He vaguely hears someone yelling his name in the distance before everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter I would love to hear what you thought.


	3. Felicity -Undisclosed Location, 2007 part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve been watching you for a while. Your capabilities are… impressive. And I am not a person who’s easily impressed, Miss Smoak.” The Director said, putting some distance between them again.
> 
> “Is that supposed to flatter me?” Felicity replied, her bravado returning, much to her relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the absurdly long wait, everyone. The holidays happened, work has been nuts, and January has been the mother of an asshole so far. I'll do my best to upload more regularly going forward. I hope you enjoy the chapter.
> 
> This chapter picks up after ch. 1.

**February 2007 - Location Unkown**

 

Felicity came to in a dark room, lit solely by a faint blue light that made her feel like she was in some low budget horror movie.  

At this point she was feeling several conflicting emotions all at once and they were making her a bit dizzy. On one hand there was the fear of whatever the fuck it was she’d gotten herself into and on the other hand was the downright boiling rage she felt towards both her fellow Brother Eye members and at herself for being so goddamned stupid for letting some self-conscious man-boys get the better of her. She would have never gotten to that fucking satellite if they didn’t point it out to her. The more time she was being held, the clearer it became that someone set her up. Why that was remained yet to be seen.

It took her several minutes to get used to the weird lightning in the room which both irritated her eyes and was insufficient for her to see around properly. Thank god she didn’t have time to put in her contacts this morning and opted to take her glasses instead, in her hurry to meet with Dean Collins. Who knows how long they’d keep her here - with contacts they’ll probably end up being useless after several weeks and she would be as good as blind. She blinked some more and squinted around her.

Felicity got to her feet clumsily, bracing herself on her hands. Her legs felt shaky which is no wonder, because when she thought about she didn’t remember when was the last time she ate something.

It didn’t take her long to realize that she was in a cell - for all intents and purposes it was a cell. And yet there were no bars, no visible lock. Nothing she could use to break her way out. The only things beside transparent walls were a small vent on the ceiling, which was too high for her to reach and a narrow flap to her right, no doubt for food. On her exploration she’d stepped on something soft and squishy that caused her foot to slip a little and she almost ended up falling backwards. Once she picked it up she realized it was a pillow and that next to it there was a blanket. And yet there was no bed.

Her cell had reflective walls - not much different than the one way mirrors in interrogation rooms. She could only see what was going on around her, but not what went on outside. She had to give it to whoever came up with this idea - it was a really good one.

She wondered what the Director wanted with her. The treatment she was getting made her think that there’s something fishy going on. If Waller was pissed her satelite was hacked then surely she would have just handed her over to the FBI so she can be sent to prison or something. Yet at no point between the time of her accusation, being taken away, and however long she’s been held here for has she been read her rights, been allowed to make a phone call.

Nobody’s told her what’s going on and it was that, more than anything else, that was driving her crazy. She hated mysteries. They needed to be solved. Yet, if she were to solve that one she was going to need more than the information she currently had. She was a certified Genius, not a certified Oracle.

Having nothing better to do, Felicity started tracing and retracing her past. From the time she moved to Boston to the day she met Waller. Was it all one big conspiracy? Did M.I.T. offer her that scholarship based on merit or because someone wanted to get her? Did that someone develop a grudge based on her work as a hacktivist (because hacker is such an ugly word) or were they somehow connected to her bastard of a father (although calling him father seemed like an exaggeration considering she hasn’t seen him for most of her life).

She heard footsteps approaching and shot up to her feet. Whoever was coming had good timing because thinking about Noah Kutler was never a good thing with Felicity. The last time she thought about him she dyed her hair black and pierced her ear cartilage. Plus, with thoughts of her father came thoughts of her mother and while they were somewhat estranged, Felicity couldn’t begin to imagine how much her disappearance would freak her mother out.

The footsteps came closer and Felicity tensed. The sound of hard rubber against what sounded like a metal floor reverberated through the room, sounding as ominous as a timer counting down the seconds to an explosion. Bile rose in Felicity’s throat as she took a good guess who she was about to see.

Pity her cell didn’t have a roulette table because Felicity would have hit the jackpot.

Whatever digital security held Felicity’s cell locked was disengaged and the soft beeps and clicks revealed the entrance to be on her left. In walked none other than Director Waller.

Felicity had to suppress a chill. There was something about that woman that unsettled her to her core.

‘ _Don’t let them see you break, Mama’le*, never give them the satisfaction,_ ’ Bube Miriam used to say whenever little Felicity would come home crying because other kids made fun of her.

“You know, you should really bring a change of shoes if you’re going for the whole element of surprise here,” Felicity said, her grandmother’s words being the only thing keeping her from stuttering.

Rationally, she knew it wasn’t wise to piss this woman off. She realized that the Director could put a bullet between her eyes and none would be the wiser that she was gone.

“It’s admirable that you’ve retained your sense of humour in a situation as grave as yours,” the Director told her coldly.

Jackpot. Waller had just unknowingly given her an in and Felicity was going to milk it as much as she could.

“And what situation is that exactly? Because you see, your boy toys were pretty tight lipped while they dragged me here,” Felicity said with her lips stretching into the sweetest looking smile.

The Director’s face was unreadable and her unblinking, unimpressed stare was starting to make Felicity nervous. She knew she was tiptoeing the red line and that the Director’s patience was nearing its limits, but being true to herself, she plowed on. Consequences be damned.

“Because you see, I’m no lawyer, but I know enough of my rights to know I should be informed of my charges and be given my phone call.” Felicity crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to hide the way they were trembling.

The Director’s expression changed - the stern, pressed, lips stretched into a sinister smile. The blank stare transformed into a predatory gleam.

“Miss Smoak, you are under the impression you’ve been arrested,” The director said, “You’re under the impression you think you’re going to be held accountable to the Computer Fraud and and Abuse Act. Possibly sections 1030 (a)1 and 1030 (a)3… Here I thought you were supposed to be _smart_ ,”

The Director’s condescending tone was mocking Felicity at this point.

Felicity offered her no reply. Bile was rising in her throat as the meaning of the Director’s words started to truly sink in. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

“I told you when we met,” The Director continued, much to Felicity’s dread, “I am the head of a highly classified government organization. So classified, in fact, that it doesn’t exist. The matters we handle - don’t exist. The prisoners we hold… They don’t exist either.”

The Director had crossed the distance between them as she spoke and the tips of her fingers brushed under Felicity’s chin as she spoke those last few words.

Felicity couldn’t move. The Director just flat out confirmed her fear. Her words made Felicity wish she was actually facing an honest to God trial. She couldn’t hide her trembling anymore. Sure, she was a genius. Sure, she acted all tough and strong and uncaring. But she was also just 19 years old. And she was scared to death.

“What do you want from me?” her voice was weak and trembling as she spoke to the Director and Felicity hated it.

“I’ve been watching you for a while. Your capabilities are… impressive. And I am not a person who’s easily impressed, Miss Smoak.” The Director said, putting some distance between them again.

“Is that supposed to flatter me?” Felicity replied, her bravado returning, much to her relief.

“I’d be willing to trade your freedom for your set of skills,” The director offered.

For a moment there Felicity was tempted. She was just 19 - her life was just beginning. She had ambitions, she had a future planned out for herself. She wanted to leave something for people to remember her by. She wanted to help people. She’d need to have her freedom in order to do so.

The selfish part of her was willing to shake the Director’s hand.

And yet, she couldn’t help but recall those numbers she saw when she hacked the Director’s satellite. The people being spied on, the casualties of senseless political agendas, the sick powerplay at the expense of the powerless. Whatever organization this woman was working for was willing to hold people prisoner without trial or proof. It was willing to intimidate and kidnap 19-year-old girls.

“I’m quite fond of my current accommodations, thank you.” Felicity started proudly.

“Your arrogance will be your downfall one day,” The director warned her and turned on her heel towards whatever entrance she used to go in.

“Such a pity, though, for your talents to go to waste,” Waller continued, pressing her hand against the wall.

Waller turned around one last time to face Felicity as the door opened behind her.

“I do hope you were serious about liking your current living conditions,” the Director smiled, “because they are about to become permanent,”

With that she walked out, the door closing slowly behind her, leaving Felicity to stare blankly at the two armed guards who had their rifles pointed at Felicity, lest she try to escape.

The door closed, the sound of the Director’s sharp heels clicking against the metal floor faded away, leaving Felicity in complete silence once again.

She managed to back up against one of the walls and then she dropped to the floor. Her knees giving out, her body too tired to confine the terror Waller had instilled in her. She kept running her thoughts through their conversation over and over again, until her head started hurting.

Felicity crawled over to the mattress to her left and lay down.

Her thoughts drifted back to her mother. And with thoughts of her mother came the gut wrenching sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mama'le - translates to "my dear" / "sweetheart"


	4. Oliver - Starling General Hospital, 2012 part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you looking for this?” Moira asks and Oliver turns around so quickly he almost gives himself a whiplash.
> 
> His mother is holding up a silver chain with two dangling rings. The relief Oliver feels is so palpable his knees almost give out. All he manages is a breathy ‘yes’ that’s barely above a whisper and he almost snatches it out of his mother’s hand. He stops just as his fingers hover over the chain though, remembering that this is his mother and not some stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic PTSD and violent hallucinations/nightmares. There's also discussion and internal thoughts of suicide. Please tread with caution if any of these are triggering for you.
> 
> There has been a change in update schedule, you'll find the details at the end of the chapter. Enjoy the chapter.

The screaming is reduced to echoes as Oliver walks through the jungle of Lian Yu. He has absolutely no idea where he’s going even though it all feels oddly familiar. He’s uneasy, calculating each step twice before he takes it. There’s something odd about his surroundings, he can’t quite put his finger on what it is and that puts him on edge. His fists clench around a weapon that he doesn’t have. His nails dig into his skin with enough force to make his knuckles turn white. He should know where this path leads, he’s spent enough time on that damn island to be able to draw a detailed topographic map of it from memory alone.

He follows the echoes in hope that they will lead him to the source. He hopes to find out what it is and resolve it so it can finally stop. He just wants it to stop. He wants silence. All this noise is driving him crazy and makes his head want to implode.

The noise of the Island is familiar, though, almost comforting in a twisted, humorless, way only a place that has been the bane of one’s existence can be. The sounds of the trees swaying in the wind and the birds chirping on their branches above him bring him comfort. If he focuses he can hear the small stream he used to frequent once upon a time. He’s lucky enough that it’s not raining or this trek would be a lot harder. The island seems downright serene, but Oliver knows just how deceiving this notion is. They don’t call this island “Purgatory” for shits and giggles.

Slowly Oliver recognizes a sound that doesn’t belong on the island. It’s mechanical and rhythmic… A ticking. Like a clock. But why would there be a clock on Lian Yu? What use is a clock in a place where time is just about irrelevant?

He continues walking forward, hastening his pace, because that ticking noise puts him even more on edge than he already is. He feels like he’s missing something and he doesn’t like it one bit. The quicker he walks the louder the ticking sound becomes. Oliver tries to look around him as he runs as much as he can for a possible source of the ticking, but it’s not easy because he knows just how many landmines are buried on this island so he also has to watch his step or risk being blown to pieces.

He follows a curve on the improvised path and stops in his tracks. The curvy tree, reminiscent of something one might read about in a fantasy novel as some magical place, is familiar to him. Incredibly so. There was one just behind the plane crash where they’d all made camp back in the day. He couldn’t mistake this tree for the life of him.

In that case, the echoes were leading him to camp all along? What for? The ticking sound seems to be coming from the same direction. Only Oliver knows for certain that they don’t have a clock in camp, nor do they have any device that makes such noise.

But if it isn’t theirs… Someone must have put it there.

The proverbial light bulb goes off in Oliver’s head and he gasps.

“Bomb!”

He takes off running through the jungle like someone set him on fire. It’s been awhile since he had to run like this and soon enough his lungs feel like they’re burning.

Before he can turn the last bend that will allow him to have a visual on the camp the ground beneath his feet shakes so violently that he loses his footing and trips. By some sheer dumb luck his head misses the stone in front of him. It takes him a moment to realize his ears are ringing from what he belatedly realizes was an incredibly loud bang. Oliver struggles to get back on his feet because his sense of equilibrium is being difficult. His senses are overwhelmed.

Oliver pushes on though, it won’t be the first time he’s had to do this, it probably won’t be the last. Slade’s instructions of constant vigilance and persistence blare in his ears and keep him going.

The sight that greets him, at what used to be camp, is horrific. He starts coughing as he inches closer to the plane wreck that’s now just a bunch of deformed metal, the soot in the air makes it into his lungs and they definitely do not appreciate the abuse. The ground feels hot beneath his unsteady feet.

There’s a crunch underneath the sole of his right foot as he takes another step forward and he pulls his foot back and crouches down to examine the source of the noise. He squints at the ground in front of him and identifies shards of glass quickly. To its left he sees another one. A small, rectangular, piece of glass. Both are surrounded by a puddle of melted plastic. Oliver has to clutch his fingers into fists to keep from touching the black goo.

The murmurs around him pick up again. Unintelligible at first, but growing louder and clearer.

 _You_ **_left_ ** _me, Oliver._ \- the whispers accuse him.

“I had to, there was no other choice!” Oliver pleads, losing his equilibrium and falling backwards. The joints on his wrists crackle under the pressure of having to uphold his entire body.

 _You left_ ** _us_** _here to_ ** _die_** _, Oliver._

He has nowhere to run, the voice surrounds him on all sides. It’s everywhere. The only thing he can do is stare at ground zero and scream.

* * *

 

Oliver startles awake, his eyes squinting shut as soon as he opens them due to the bright white light in the room. He has no idea where he is. He tries to get up only to feel the tight hold of leather against his arms and calves. He thrashes harder against his restraints. He doesn’t remember what happened. How did he get here from the campsite? Who has him? Is it Ivo? Is it Fyers? Is it the Director _?_

He stops trying to break out of the restraints once he realizes that they’re tied too well. The work of a pro, no doubt. His heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of his rib cage, the pulsing is bordering on uncomfortable. He goes limp on the bed, resigned to wait for whatever fate his captors have in mind for him.

He focuses on his breathing and does his best to tune out the rest. In and out. Over and over again. It’s the only constant he has - breathing. On some days, on his worse days, he wishes he could just stop.

Oliver feels fingers comb through his hair and his first instinct is to recoil. Yet the touch persists. It’s a softer, kinder and gentler touch than he’s known in three years. Oliver sags into it and soaks it in. He can feel the warmth spread through his scalp and down his body.

He opens his eyes and lets out a small sigh.

“Is this a dream? Am I dreaming?” he asks quietly, afraid that if he speaks any louder he’ll scare her off, or worse - wake up.

“No, my sweet boy. I’m here,” his mother answers and he can tell she’s biting back tears just by the sound of her voice alone.

“I really missed you, mom.” Oliver sighs, leaning slightly into Moira’s fingers.

His bed dips and he can feel the cotton of his mother’s skirt against his thigh. Her right hand never stops running lines over his scalp as the other comes to cup his cheek. Moira leans forward and presses a long kiss on Oliver’s forehead. A couple loose strands of hair tickle Oliver’s face, but he wouldn’t trade his mother’s affection for anything. Moira’s lips travel down to his eyelids, kissing each one so softly her touch almost feels ghostly. Oliver’s breaths stops short for the slightest of moments as his mother’s actions take him back twenty years to when he was a little boy and his mom soothed his scary dreams.

She pulls back and looks at him like she will never get tired of seeing his face. Her hands go back to his cheeks and trace soft circles over them.

For the first time in a very long time Oliver feels wanted. He feels _loved_. His fingers itch to touch his mother, but he can’t. His restraints won’t allow him. He tries anyway, because he is the only person who gets to decide what Oliver Queen can and can’t do. Odds are even if he can’t do it he’ll still try. He stretches his hand forward for as far as it can go and the tips of his fingers just barely graze his mother’s arm.

His mother’s gaze moves to his restrained hands and, with one last quick kiss to the forehead, she’s standing again and glaring at the pieces of leather as if they’d offended her personally. Her gaze softens when her eyes meet Oliver’s and for a moment Oliver thinks she’ll just undo them herself.

“I’m going to go get someone to remove these. I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” Moira tells him and walks out of the room.

The door clicks shut behind her and Oliver is once again alone with his thoughts. He wonders what happened to necessitate the bindings. He does his best to recall the events, but finds out that he can’t. All he remembers is a voice that, in hindsight, sounded a lot like his mother’s, yelling his name.

True to her word, his mother returns with an orderly in tow and Oliver is prevented from mulling over the events any further. The orderly leans over the restraints, but pauses before he undoes them.

“Mrs. Queen, I’m obligated to ask you to reconsider, again. Your son’s mental condition is cause for concern. He could be a threat,” the orderly cautions his mother, twisting his body to the right so he can look at her.

Moira’s only response is a stony, cold expression and a slight nod of her head that’s meant to let the orderly know to get on with his job.

Oliver can tell that the orderly is frustrated with his mother. He doesn’t blame the guy, he’d be frustrated if he was in his shoes as well. And the guy is right, Oliver _is_ a threat. He’s more of a threat to everyone than his mother will ever know.

“Press the button over here if you require assistance,” the orderly tells both of them, motioning towards what looks like a light switch above the headboard of the hospital bed.

Moira and Oliver both nod silently and watch the orderly leave the room.

Oliver rubs his now free arms absent-mindedly, out of pure habit. He is avoiding looking at his mother, because there is a question at the tip of his tongue that he dreads finding out the answer to. Mid-rub, his mother’s hands replace his, and she is once again sitting beside him on the bed.. Her touch is as gentle as it was before she left, but Oliver can feel her fingers tremble against his skin.

“It’s ok, mom, I’m not hurt,” Oliver reassures her. _I’ve had worse,_ he adds silently. But this is something his mother doesn’t need to know. It’s a burden she doesn’t deserve to bear.

Moira smiles at him, but it fails to reach her eyes. There’s a glint of impatience in her eyes and Oliver has a good idea of what she wants to know. He also knows for certain that he can’t tell her, because if he does, not only will he be putting her in danger, but he will also lose her. Just like he lost Slade and Shado. Just like he lost Yao Fei and Akio. And _Them_ . First and foremost _them_ \- one loss out of all that he will probably never make his peace with.

Out of habit Oliver’s palm reaches up to his chest, only to find that the item he’s looking for is not where it should be. His eyes widen at the realization and he is on his feet a second later. He turns towards the small nightstand beside his bed and yanks the drawer out with a force bordering on being violent. The drawer is empty. So is the surface.

“Oliver? What’s wrong?” his mother asks, alarmed at his sudden actions.

Oliver looks around the room almost frantically. He moves the nightstand just to make sure, then crouches to inspect the space beneath his hospital bed; he checks the windowsill as well as behind the armchair in the corner; he inspects every corner in the en-suite bathroom - he finds nothing and he can feel the anxiety bubble up to his throat.

He’s about to try and move the small dresser next to the armchair when his mother calls to him again.

“Are you looking for this?” Moira asks and Oliver turns around so quickly he almost gives himself a whiplash.

His mother is holding up a silver chain with two dangling rings. The relief Oliver feels is so palpable his knees almost give out. All he manages is a breathy ‘yes’ that’s barely above a whisper and he almost snatches it out of his mother’s hand. He stops just as his fingers hover over the chain though, remembering that this is his _mother_ and not some stranger.

“Can I have it back now?” he asks, nervous that she may somehow refuse him.

“The doctors gave it to me yesterday after they sedated you. They thought you might use it to…” Moira’s voice dies in a hiccup as she hands him the chain and Oliver doesn’t need to hear the end of her sentence to know what she means.

“ -to kill myself,” he supplies for her and instantly regrets it as he sees his mother’s face drains of colour.

He is unused to considering people’s feelings anymore. He’s spent so much time with no companion, no need for etiquette or decorum that he doesn’t feel the need to censor himself most of the time. He realizes that this is one more adjustment that he will need to make now that he’s back in Starling.

He is only sorry for upsetting his mother. The thought of taking his own life is not something that moves him anymore. He’d lie if he says he hasn’t considered it before - when he first set foot on the island (if he focuses he can still feel the metal taste of the gun against his tongue back in Yao Fei’s cave), as well as during the time he spent in Hong Kong.

However, there is a part of him that protests what his mother is insinuating - not that he’d commit suicide, it was a fair enough assumption on the doctor's’ part, but rather that he would use _this_ chain to do it. Granted his mother and doctors aren’t aware of the importance this chain bears to Oliver. They don’t know that this chain is his reason to live. It’s what drove him to make it out alive from the ordeal after the Island because his promise to his father only seemed to go so far. Surviving to exact vengeance or serve justice pales in comparison of surviving to have a life - a future. Or at least it used to. _Before_ . But like most things in his life after the _Gambit_ that, too, was taken away from him.

Oliver made the two silver rings himself while he was in Hong Kong, the same place where he learned to forge his own arrows properly, instead of using what makeshift materials he had. He kept them on a chain underneath his clothes so he wouldn’t lose them and because they made him feel closer to _her_ . To _them_. It reminded him of the reason why he refused to give up. He never takes them off his person.

If it ever does come to Oliver choosing death (and he’s not naive enough to think that he will get out of his father’s mission alive. He doesn’t want to either, if he’s honest. Death would be a welcomed relief.) it will absolutely not be by the chain around his throat. He will not sully _their_ memory by doing so.

He fastens the chain around his neck and breathing becomes somehow an easier task. Out of habit he reaches for the collar of his shirt and drops the necklace underneath the fabric. The cool feel of the metal against his chest soothes him.

He looks up again and sees his mother tapping her foot against the tiles. Her impatience has multiplied and so has her curiosity. He can almost feel her questions as they vibrate on the tip of her tongue. So in a true Queen fashion he redirects:

“How’s Thea?”

Moira’s body releases some of the tension and her shoulders sag just the slightest bit, which is enough of a clue for Oliver to know that she will humour his request. He also knows it’s a matter of time until she asks all these questions anyway, because Moira Queen is used to getting what she wants and if she wants answers she will stop at nothing to get them, however, Oliver refuses to deal with this until he absolutely has to.

“It’s been a difficult five years for her, Oliver. It’s been a difficult five years for all of us.” Moira sighs and Oliver feels a lump form in his throat at her words.

“She kind of took to your bad habits for a while there, but thankfully when I couldn’t be there for her, Tommy was,” she continued.

“Tommy… Tommy is still around?” Oliver asked, genuinely surprised at his mother’s words.

There was nothing tying him to Starling without Oliver there. He doubts Tommy’s relationship with his father has improved any over the years. While he was always nice to Thea and took care to include her in their shenanigans when they weren’t unsafe for her, the two of them weren’t too close. Oliver knows they loved each other very much, but theirs is nothing like the bond Oliver and Thea have. _Had_ . Like Oliver and Thea _had_. Because they no longer know each other. Thea is nineteen and probably a force of nature, while Oliver is far from the big brother she remembers him as.

Come to think about it, he and Tommy don’t have a relationship either anymore. The same principle applies to their relationship. They’re not best friends, but rather two strangers who have a long and profound history. It remains to be seen whether his past can somehow be adapted to fit his present. If his family’s idea of who he used to be, who they knew him as, can be reconciled with the shadow of a man he is today. The only difference is they have to adjust to just him whereas he has at least three people he will now have to consider - his entire family.

Oliver shakes his head and proceeds to ask about how Tommy’s doing. It’s a shock when Moira tells him Tommy is in his second to last year of med school. Med school is a huge responsibility and it’s difficult for Oliver to imagine Tommy “Commitment Issues Extraordinaire” Merlyn committing to something like this.

_Now who’s being a presumptuous dick who doesn’t want to accept change?_

The voice in the back of his head has a point.

“Your accident hit him very hard,” he hears his mother explain and gives out a little sigh at having tuned her out. “As it did us all.”

“I’m sorry,” Oliver murmurs, averting his gaze down to his feet.

His mother crosses whatever small distance stands between them and cups his face with her palms.

“Oliver, did you sink the _Gambit?_ ” Moira asks him flatly.

Oliver recoils from her question. He backs away until his mother is no longer touching him. He can hear the storm of that night raging in his ears. He can hear the screams of the crewmen he wasn’t fast enough to save. He can hear his father’s shouting at him to move and get into the lifeboat.

His father’s dying words ring out as a reminder as well as a curse. He can see the blood pouring out of his father’s temple. He can feel the drops of his father’s blood sliding down his face. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears and it’s so loud it overshadows everything else around him.

He feels a touch on his arm and jumps back again, afraid that his father is no longer satisfied with haunting his thoughts but might have resorted to haunting him in his waking hours as well.

He shakes his head and the clouds of that fateful night clear. The hospital room comes into focus again and with it the concerned gaze of his mother.

“I’m sorry, I’m okay, I promise,” Oliver hurries to reassure her. He smiles, but is not aware whether it looks genuine. He doesn’t really have it in him to care at this moment.

He remembers that his mother asked him a question and he hurries to answer it, if only because he hopes it will help reassure her of his words - that he truly is okay.

“I had _nothing_ to do with the sinking of the _Gambit_ ,” Oliver says and it’s the most resolute he’s been so far.

His mother appraises him for a moment, looking him up and down until she is satisfied.

“If you weren’t the one that sank the _Gambit_ , then you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Oliver,” Moira tells him.

Oliver regards her silently. He notices a weariness to her that he failed to see the day before. His mother looks tired, more so than he remembers. His heart sinks because he is sure that he is to blame for part of it. Maybe for most of it.

“And you, Mom? How are you?” Oliver asks and it occurs to him in the two days that she’s been with him this is the first time he actually asks her about herself.

He can feel a knot of guilt make itself at home at the pit of his stomach. What’s one more link on the chain he’s already carrying though?

He can see his mother hesitate before she decides to answer him. Her fingers twitch slightly against her skirt. Nervousness is not really something Moira Queen exhibits. Suddenly she seems hell bent on avoiding Oliver’s gaze.

“Mom?” Oliver urges on.

“It’s nothing bad, sweetheart,” Moira hurries to say and sends a small smile his way.

“Then what is it? Why are you so nervous?” Oliver asks, his own mother’s anxiety doing nothing to calm his own.

“I think it’s better I tell you about this now rather than have you find out in any other way,” his mother says and raises a hand up to stop Oliver from speaking and cutting her off with questions.

“I got remarried two years ago. To Walter Steele. He was your father’s CFO at Queen Consolidated,” Moira explains.  

This was not what Oliver expected to hear. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but for one, he thought it’d be something worse - that maybe his mother was sick or something equally as worrying. The news of her re-marriage comes as a relief instead.

“Oliver, I swear this doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten about Robert or that I don’t care about him -” Moira explains when she sees Oliver offer her no response.

His mother’s words are a downright ramble, something so very out of character for her. Initially, her words sting. He feels like she’d replaced his father. It’s yet another attempt to distance herself from him and Robert. Yet another way to have a life that doesn’t include him and it stings. But then that small voice in the back of his head offers that maybe Oliver should shut that pity party down. That this isn’t about him. This is about Thea having a family again. It’s about his mother having someone to share her life with. They both deserve that.

“Does he treat you and Thea well? Are you happy?” he asks at last.

“Yes. Thea and Walter think the world of each other and he makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time,” Moira answers quietly, as if she is confessing some sort of sin.

Oliver nods silently, letting his mother’s words sink in. A couple moments later he closes the distance between them and hugs his mother tightly.

“Good,” he says and as soon as the words leave his mouth it strikes him how much he means them.

He’s glad Thea and his mother found someone. He knew first hand having someone be there for you like that could make a difference. He would never have made it through his first year at Lian Yu without Slade, Shado and Yao Fei. He wouldn’t have made it home without _her._

It’s then and there that he decides that this is one adjustment he will make wholeheartedly. He will do his best to find a way to get along with this man. Come hell or high water.

And knowing his own luck - they just might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that I'm going to update this fic going forward every other weekend, instead of every weekend. The reason being that I picked up writing another WIP of mine who's chapters are not pre-written and which requires a lot of attention. So I've decided to just alternate between them.


	5. Felicity - Prisoner Transportation Facility, 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, the Director is tired of me already?” she asked, tilting her head to the left, a mask of carelessness firmly set in place. “Pity, I was starting to look forward to our little game.”
> 
> The woman in front of her looked unimpressed with Felicity’s bravado. If she saw through it, she never offered a comment. 
> 
> “You can call me Harbinger and I’ve been tasked with your transport,” the agent said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No your eyes are not deceiving you. I'm finally updating this fic. I'm sorry for the long time it took me. I've been struggling with writing lately and this chapter simply did not want to co-operate. Because of the long wait, I'll also be posting the next chapter after this later tonight. If there's anyone left interested in this story, you guys deserve it and I'm sorry for taking so long.
> 
> Please enjoy the chapter and as always I'd be happy to hear what you think.

**March, 2007, Location Unknown**

 

_ It was a really good thing Felicity was so good with numbers, otherwise she would have lost track of how much time she’d spent in that glorified cage. She’s been held prisoner for 18 days and 15 hours.  _

_ She counted the days by the daily visits of the Director, who always asked the same question. She counted the hours by the rotation of the guards around her cage, whose steps echoed around the floor. She counted the number of steps it took to complete a lap around the cell. She counted the number of laps she could do in an hour. She counted the number of bites her food consisted of.  _

_ Being held prisoner made her develop a new hobby. She’d started praying. Growing up she was never raised to be religious. Her mother worked so much she often didn’t have the energy to teach her the ins and outs of what a religious Jewish life would entail. That would be where her Bubbe Miriam came in - she was the one to teach Felicity how to recite the Shema and to explain to her that the prayer is to be said every morning when she wakes up and every night before she goes to bed. She taught Felicity what Yiddish she was able, because her Bubbe was never properly educated (she had been just a child when she was taken away to the concentration camps and ripped away from her family and after the war school wasn’t at the top of her priorities) so she wasn’t able to explain grammar or teach the language properly. Rather, Bubbe made do with Felicity’s excellent memory skills - having her memorize sentences and phrases.  _

_ As a child, Felicity struggled to understand her grandmother’s relationship to religion. Having inherited Noah’s love of science and rational thought didn’t make it any easier.  _

_ “Religion is something that needs to be felt and only then can it be believed” her Bubbe used to say.  _

_ “But if I can’t see it and I can’t touch it, how can I be sure it’s really there?” Little Felicity would ask back. _

_ While that question would have made a lot of adults angry or spiteful, it used to make Bubbe smile. She would only grin indulgently at her granddaughter and run her hand down head in a loving caress.  _

_ “You will know when you are ready to know, Oshra*.” she would say. Her Bubbe was probably the only person who insisted on referring to Felicity by her Jewish name. _

_ Her evasive answer had caused Felicity to grow more frustrated with the subject. She dealt with absolutes. Facts. Maybes, uncertainties, and variables annoyed her. They needed to be solved.  _

_ Felicity renounced all hopes in understanding religion and her grandmother’s spirituality the day her father left. Instead, she became hellbent on unravelling every mystery she came upon, until she knew everything there was to know about it. As if any possible knowledge she gained would somehow fill the hole of uncertainty that her father father’s abandonment left within her.  _

_ Bubbe Miriam passed away when Felicity was 12 years old. Felicity cried harder at her funeral than she ever cried for her father. When she ran out of tears she told Donna that she wanted a new name.  _

_ Oshra was no more, instead came Felicity. Her voice had trembled when she picked her new name, because while she wished to have nothing with the faith her grandmother put her trust in, she couldn’t bring herself to distance herself completely. So while the name itself was different, its meaning was all the same.  _

* * *

_ The door to her cell opened, but Felicity continued to stare at her feet, unbothered. Her mind was already playing out the conversation that was about to occur between her and the Director. Almost like that one horrid song that every radio station insisted on playing over and over again. _

_ A throat cleared in front of her. Felicity still kept looking at the white, laceless, slip on shoes she was given once she arrived at the facility.  _

_ “Miss Smoak,”  _

_ Felicity looked up at the sound of her name, but not because she was called. Rather the voice who called her did not belong to the Director.  _

_ Looking up she saw a woman in her mid to late twenties in a crisp dark blue pantsuit and shoulder-length wavy black hair.  _

_ Felicity took as shallow a breath as she could, not wanting to alert her companion to that fact that she has in any way rattled her. She pictured her grandmother and could almost feel the ghost of her gentle touch raising the hairs on her arm. She heard her mom’s voice in her head, encouraging her to face her troubles head on. She drew strength from them and looked up. _

_ “So the Director is tired of me already?” she asked, tilting her head to the left, a mask of carelessness firmly set in place. “Pity, I was starting to look forward to our little game.” _

_ The woman in front of her looked unimpressed with Felicity’s bravado. If she saw through it, she never offered a comment.  _

_ “You can call me Harbinger and I’ve been tasked with your transport,” the agent said. _

_ Felicity’s breath hitched for just a moment. Transport? No one ever mentioned a transport to her. Transport where? Why? When? Her mind started playing all sorts of scenarios that could befall her. Each more horrible than the last.  _

_ She wasn’t stupid, she knew there was nothing ordinary about her “arrest”. She was never read any rights. She was never presented with any paperwork. She was never allowed her call. Therefore, nothing would be off limits regarding her stay in whichever damned custody she was in.   _

_ Before she could spiral into a fully blown panic attack, Harbinger reached her hand out to Felicity.  _

_ “Get up, I was told you’re to be transferred asap, but I imagine you would appreciate a shower before we leave?”  _

_ That was the third time Harbinger  had managed to throw Felicity for a loop in the few minutes since her arrival. With a short nod, Felicity took her offered hand and righted herself up. She was only allowed to use the bathroom no more than 3 times a day and showers were a once a week affair, so she wasn’t about to pass any opportunity when presented to her.  _

_ The agent’s grasp on her arm remained until they were inside the women’s locker room. And yet, while firm and unyielding it didn’t terrify her like any time a male guard would hold her like this. She could tell that Harbinger’s grasp was restrictive and a warning against any attempts to escape out of it, but unlike her male colleagues, Harbinger did not try to set the pace of their short walk to the locker rooms. She did not mock or push Felicity when she stumbled. She did not manhandle her. For that small mercy, Felicity was grateful. _

_ Harbinger let go of Felicity long enough to pull a set of shower products from the closest locker, alongside a towel.  _

_ “I will uncuff you so you can shower, once you’re ready and dressed, the cuffs come back on. You’ll have 10 minutes and I’ll be standing right outside your stall. If you so much as think to do anything stupid like run away or hit me, you will fail and the punishment you’ll be put under will not be worth the effort.” Harbinger warned firmly, making a shiver run down Felicity’s back.  _

_ “Your file claims you’re smart. Don’t make me regret this.” the shower products and towel were thrust into her hands before Harbinger turned to face the wall in an attempt to give Felicity some privacy to undress.  _

_ Once the lukewarm water in the narrow shower stall hit her shoulders, Felicity let out all the anxiety that had arisen in her since the arrival of Harbinger. She’d crumpled to the ground, hugging her knees and trying to get her breath under control for what felt like eternity. _

_ It was only when Harbinger called out to her that she had five minutes left, that Felicity came back to her senses. She grabbed the tiny bottles of wash and shampoo and scrubbed her hair and skin meticulously. She had a foreboding gut feeling it’ll be awhile before she would have access to such a luxury again. _

_ She’d just finished washing off when Harbinger pulled the curtain back and Felicity stepped out.  _

_ She was feeling humiliated and uncomfortable standing there with no clothes on while Harbinger was guiding her out of the shower, but she willed herself not to show any emotion. _

_ She saw the clothes resting on one of the nearby benches and headed for them. It was the same gray uniform she was wearing before, the same flat shoes that were so uncomfortable they gave her blisters. But at least they were clean. _

_ As soon as she was done Harbinger grabbed her wrists and cuffed them together.  _

_ “Why?” Felicity asked her quietly, her mouth speaking on its own volition, despite her vow not to show how much these circumstances are getting to her.  _

_ Harbinger made eye contact with her and for the briefest of moments it seemed like Felicity could see pity flash in them, but it was all gone in the blink of an eye.  _

_ “There are people in this world who deal only in extremes. It's naive to think that anything less than extreme measures will stop them.” Was all Harbinger told her in reply. _

_ The statement only raised more questions in Felicity.  _

_ Harbinger led her out of the locker room and down the corridor. They rode to the roof where a helicopter was waiting for them. Felicity swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the realization of how high up in the air she was and willed herself to look up. _

_ It was the first glimpse of the sky she had seen in weeks. The sun was setting and the sky was awash in yellows, pinks, and oranges. It was the most beautiful thing Felicity had seen in a long time. _

_ She didn’t have time to dwell on it, however, because Harbinger’s firm hand pushed her ever so gently towards the helicopter where the second pilot secured her into a seat.  _

_ The last thing Felicity heard Harbinger say before she put noise cancelling headphones on her ears was: " _ _ Set course for Lian Yu.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Felicity's Jewish name - Oshra (pronounced Osh-ra, with the stress on the second syllable) means "her happiness" in Hebrew. A friend of mine on tumblr also offered an alternative meaning which I personally love - "God's happiness" which is derived from the Hebrew writing of the name.


	6. Oliver, Starling City, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen Mansion may not be the home he wants but it’s his home nevertheless. The place he grew up in, the place that houses the better part of his memories, the place where some of the people most precious to him are. It may not be his home anymore, it may not have been his home for a while now, but it will be again. It has to be.  
> He has nowhere else to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's another chapter for you. I hope you enjoy.

**October, 2012, Starling General Hospital.**

 

Oliver convinces his mother to go home that evening, telling her that she deserves a good night’s sleep. When Moira objects to his suggestion, Oliver simply tells her that perhaps Thea needs her right now, too, and that she shouldn’t be alone. That seems to do the trick and Moira leaves him with a kiss to the forehead and instruction to call her if he needs her, regardless of the hour.

Oliver agrees to her condition if only just to pacify her and make her go. His shoulders sag as soon as the door clicks shut behind his mother. He’s missed her more than he thought and he wouldn’t trade the time he got to spend with her in this past day, but at the same time having to not be around her is a relief. Mostly because he doesn’t have to pretend he’s okay all the time. He’s not okay. He knows that all too well, but his family doesn’t deserve to suffer because of him more than they already have. 

And yet there goes off that voice in his head again telling him that they might just have to. Because when has the universe given Oliver a break in the past five years? 

_ Oh but it did, didn’t it? There were a sliver of a couple of weeks where you still had hope that you might make it out unscathed… all three of you. And then you learned the hard way that miracles don’t exist. And if they did, they sure as fuck won’t happen to someone like you who is rotten to the bone. _

Oliver hated that voice in his head, the part of his consciousness that kept giving him one reality check after another when he never asked for them.

_ How the fuck do you think you made it through all this crap alive, dumbass? _

Oliver’s response to that was just to turn to lie on his right side and curl up into a fetal position. 

As most of his nights, he spends this one trying to avoid sleep. He’s already exhausted by all the emotions the last couple of days have brought on and he really doesn’t have any energy left to deal with his nightmares. He’s not naive enough to think that he can fall asleep and not dream. He is most vulnerable in his sleep and his demons know that quite well. Plus, having a nightmare means he will wake up screaming, which will attract attention that would no doubt land him some additional time in the hospital for “observation”. 

Asking the nurses for a sedative is also out of the question. For one, Oliver is vehemently opposed to any kind of pill that would diminish his awareness, especially considering the times such medication has been used on him against his will. For another, it would raise questions of just what he has to fear in his dreams and it would probably earn him another session with the hospital shrink.

He paces around the room over and over again, switching his walking patterns every couple of minutes. Then he pushes some furniture around so he can burn some energy working out - sit ups, push ups, stretches. It’s not nearly enough but it’s a start. He would have asked for a book if he had the patience to sit still or had the presence of mind to concentrate on the words on the page. 

Oliver pulls his bag from under the bed and opens it. It looks like just about any standard-issue army bag and its contents are mostly reminders of his times away - Shado’s hood, a pouch of Yao Fei’s herbs, Slade’s sword, whatever little clothes Oliver had, his bow and arrows, his father’s notebook, and a ratty grey blanket that used to be soft once upon a time.

It’s that last item that unsettles him and brings back unwanted memories that cause Oliver to wince and push the bag away from him as far as the room would allow him. Suddenly he feels suffocated in this hospital room. He needs to get out, his palms are itching to hit something and has to suppress the urge to tear his room apart for the same reasons that he won’t allow himself to sleep. 

Eventually it dawns on him that while he is not allowed to leave the premises of the hospital, his room is not a prison. There are no guards at the door to stop him from leaving. No chains, no cuffs to restrict his movements. No cameras to track his every move. He is free to go in and out of his room without needing to give anyone an account of his whereabouts, as long as he stays within the hospital grounds. 

With that realization in mind he leaves his room. Ideally he would have liked to find a place where he could run, but walking would have to suffice in this case.   
  


He has no idea how long he’s spent in the small yard on the fourth floor terrace of the hospital. He paced, he walked, he even resorted to meditation - all to pass the time until it would be acceptable for him to be awake. All that effort to avoid sleep. If his ghosts want to haunt him that much, they’re welcome to bother him while he’s awake. It’s not like they don’t do it anyways.

He’s on his knees, leaning his weight back against his heels and his hands hang limply at his sides. His eyes are closed but he can feel the warmth of the sunrise brush against his eyelids and he knows it’s time to go. Time to leave this quiet little corner he found and return to the hustle and bustle of the city. 

Oliver is in absolutely no hurry to get back to his room again, knowing that he will probably be visited by one doctor or another. At the same time he realizes how important it is that he play it up being as normal as possible so they would release him. He has a job to do. A city to save. A promise to fulfill.  _ A family to avenge. _

The longer he waits to follow through, the longer he has to pretend to keep up this charade. 

He nods absentmindedly at the nurses at their station when he passes them by and turns right towards the corridor that would lead him to his room. Or his prison cell. Depending on how one looks at it. There are more than one kinds of prisons - something Oliver has had to learn the hard way. One can still be a prisoner even when they’re free to roam the world. 

He heads straight for the small bathroom to shower. Showers are probably the only luxury he missed while he was away. It was the only thing he found most difficult to live without. Showers and hot water. And yet, he doesn’t turn the hot water on when he showers, but opts for the cold one. He tells himself it’s out of habit - that the water in the tap couldn’t be any colder than the stream in Lian Yu or the rain that poured and poured over him while he was there. But how much is it habit, and how much of it is actually a way for Oliver to stay alert, to keep his guard up. 

_ To punish yourself, too.  _  - Oliver wishes he knew how to turn that damn voice off. 

Once he leaves the bathroom he sees a tray of breakfast laid on his nightstand - a bland danish, a cup of what looks like coffee, and an orange. The sight of it unsettles him to the bone. Someone came into his room, moved around and then left and Oliver was so far into his own head that he never noticed. 

His fists clenched angrily and he dug his nails into the skin of his palms and grit his teeth to avoid knocking the offending tray and the whole nightstand over. This is the third time he slips up like this. The first time he loses focus and awareness of his surroundings. There must not be a next time, or next time someone he loves could get hurt. 

_ You mean like you didn’t notice the bomb until it was too late? How if you actually did what Slade taught you, you could have made it back to them? But you were so focused on being the big damn hero that you ended up ruining five lives instead?  _

Oliver inhales sharply, halting the string of unwanted memories that simmer at the edge of his consciousness and threaten to spill out.

_ Not now. Not now, please. Not now. _

The door handle clicks behind him, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. He turns quickly to face the door. He should have known they’ll come for him eventually. He should have known the Director wouldn’t let him go that easily. All he has to protect himself is a recording device. The Director has the United States government at their disposal. He knows they’re coming for him and he will never again give them the pleasure of being unprepared. They would have to kill him and mean it this time around.

His fists unclench when he sees his mother and he lets a breath out through his teeth. 

Not now. Not today. But he’s not naive enough to think that all will be well now. Oh no. 

Oliver spent three years poking a monster. Now the monster is wide awake and biding its time to get him. Maybe Oliver of three years ago wouldn’t have stood a chance against it, but Oliver as he is now will give as good as he gets. After all, it takes one beast to know another.

“Good morning, Oliver,” his mother says and Oliver’s fists unclench. 

“‘Morning, Mom,” Oliver murmurs, leaning to kiss his mother’s cheek - a long forgotten habit on his part. 

“I hope you’re packed because the car is waiting at the back entrance,”

His mother’s words cause the tension to build back up again. The past three days are somewhat fuzzy but he clearly remembers his doctor saying he is to stay for at least a couple more days. Then again he shouldn’t be surprised that his mother managed to convince his doctor to let him go before they deemed he should. Moira Queen has a way with words, but if they prove futile she has several ways with money. 

On one hand, he’d be lying if he says he’s not happy to go home. He’s missed Thea, Tommy and even Raisa so seeing them again will be a very good thing. Being home also meant less invading questions from strangers. No more invasion of his privacy and being bound to the premises of a single place. 

On the other hand though, his stay at Queen Manor will prove as limiting as it would be liberating. He might not be questioned by strangers but he is beyond sure his family would have many questions to ask. It would be harder to avoid them if he were home, despite the size of it. 

He would have to get a grip on his behaviour - his brain, his heart - and soon, before they become too suspicious. 

He pulls his bag from underneath the hospital bed and opens it to make sure all his belongings are in there. There isn’t much, but some of the things inside hold sentimental value to him, which makes them irreplaceable in his eyes.

“It’s going to be alright, sweetheart,” his mother says as he packs.

Oliver is both surprised that his mother picked up on his tension and simultaneously resigned to how well she knew him. Come to think of it he has never been able to fool her unless she decided to let herself be fooled.

“The doctors let me go this quickly?” Oliver asks his mother. It’s more so he could control the flow of conversation than it is for his genuine desire to know about the circumstances around his release.

“The doctors let me go this quickly?” Oliver asks his mother. It’s more so he could control the flow of conversation than it is for his genuine desire to know about the circumstances around his release.

“I had a talk with them about you feeling more comfortable at home and I might have shared my concern about the media circus this could bring about for all sides involved if someone from the hospital or the people staying here decided to tip off the press. It would definitely be an inconvenience for our privacy, but a hoard of journalists and their camera crews and vans camping outside the hospital would definitely disrupt the doctors’ work as well.” Moira explains with a smirk.

Oliver raises an eyebrow at his mother, not buying her explanation for all it is worth. He’s sure the media hassle would be a factor for his speedy release but he is also certain that some anonymous donation on his mother’s part must be involved. Under different circumstances, and in a different life, he would have pressed her for more details. Now, however, he doesn’t have it in him to care about the how-s and why-s. The most important thing to him is that he is free to go. For the first time in five years, he is free to go wherever he damn well pleases and there’s no one to stop him or get in his way.

So Oliver opts for a nod towards his mother and hoists his bag over his shoulder.

“Let’s go home,” the words feel surreal leaving his mouth. For so long he never thought he’d get to say them. For so long he’d lost all hope to see his mother and sister again.

The Queen Mansion may not be the home he  _ wants _ but it’s his home nevertheless. The place he grew up in, the place that houses the better part of his memories, the place where some of the people most precious to him are. It may not be his home anymore, it may not have been his home for a while now, but it will be again. It has to be.

He has nowhere else to go.


	7. Oliver, Queen Manor, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thought of running out on his mother gives him pause. He doesn’t have it in him to do this to her again., especially since now he understands better than ever how she must have felt while he was lost at sea. He would include Thea in the list of people who would be concerned about his disappearance, but after earlier today he isn’t sure if his sister has any love left for him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a Felicity chapter. But I'm strugling with some of the content, so have some Oliver in the meantime, as I figure it out and work out Gothlicity's kinks.
> 
> I'm posting this at 2:40am, please forgive any mistakes and/or tense inconsistencies I must have missed when editing.
> 
> Last we left Oliver, he was driving home with his mother and let's just say it's not quite the homecoming Moira envisioned for him.

The ride to the mansion is quiet, but not tense. Oliver spends the majority of it staring out the window of their town car. The city has changed more than he imagined – and not for the better. They pass by the Glades on their way home and Oliver’s heart clenched at the sight of the dilapidated buildings and rundown shops. His thoughts drift to his father’s notebook in his bag and the mission he was tasked with. He has no idea where to begin or who to help first.

Unlike Starling, the Queen mansion looks like it hasn’t changed one bit. From the manicured lawns, to the masterfully shaped bushes, to the pressed gravel on the driveway. Every stone, every curve, and every corner of his childhood home are perfectly familiar to him – he’s almost startled at the amount of comfort it brings him. His world has turned upside down several times in the past few years but this place remained the same. This place feels like the only thing that has remained the same as Oliver remembered it as. The same it has always been – a constant.

He follows his mother out of the car and thanks their driver, whose name he can’t recall, when he hands Oliver his bag. He is incredibly uncomfortable with anyone handling his stuff, let alone a stranger, but he schools his face and doesn’t let it betray his unease.

His mother pauses in front of the door and turns around to face Oliver.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” His mother says and her voice cracks ever so slightly.

With that she opens the door for him and lets him go in first.

If the familiarity of the grounds and exterior of the mansion left Oliver stunned, then the interior leaves him downright breathless. Aside from a few added photos to the giant circular table in the foyer everything looks and even smells exactly the same. The smell of  _ home  _ is something Oliver forgot quite early on, but it comes back to him as soon as he walks through the door, and  it hits him hard.

Before he can so much as cross the foyer towards any part of the house, he hears a loud shriek and then feels something hit him hard in the chest. He feels a tightness around his chest, not unlike when someone is squeezing him.

Oliver snaps. He reacts on instinct, crafted by years’ worth of training and living in fear and doubt of his own shadow, where every friend eventually turned a foe.

Oliver grabs his assailant and pushes them back a just a few steps before he grabs their arms and flips them over his back. Oliver’s heart is pulsing almost frantically in his chest, causing his ears to ring. His entire focus is solely on this person – on this threat. His attacker lands with a loud thud on the ground and Oliver allows himself just the briefest moment of feeling satisfied at the sound before he lurches towards them and presses his forearm to their throat.

Loud shrieks behind him break through his resolve and soon he feels a pull on both his arms, but mostly on the one he’s using to restrain his attacker. His attacker who is currently scratching against his arm in attempts to prevent him from cutting off their air supply.

A pair of stronger arms weave under his armpits and drag him backwards with an urgency that’s almost violent.

Oliver’s breathing hard when he falls back, once whoever gripped him lets go. His vision is blurry and the ringing in his ears persists. His heart continues its attempts to beat its way out of his chest and Oliver feels lightheaded and even slightly nauseous due to the blood pumping viciously through his veins.

A few moments pass and Oliver’s eyes are able to focus on the sight in front of him. It takes a few blinks but eventually he realizes what he is looking at – a pair of legs. Judging by their width and stance he assumes they belong to a male. Oliver looks up and finds a face that is both familiar and unfamiliar to him. There’s something about the man’s features that makes Oliver think he’s seen them before, but the expression is not something he remembers seeing. He can read the man’s face like a book – he’s worried, confused, and angry. Whether these emotions are directed at him or not, Oliver can’t tell.

He tries to lean around the man to see what the whispers and fussing happening behind him are about but as soon as he makes a move, the man follows, blocking his view.

He’s protecting someone, Oliver realizes.

It takes him a moment to notice that his heart's not beating as furiously anymore and that his surroundings are getting clearer. As the noise in his ears subsides he can identify his mother’s worried fussing and he hears a different, slightly deeper and more accented, voice that makes his blood run cold. It’s not the voice itself that terrifies him, but rather what it says:

“Miss Thea, can you speak?”

The voice, he realizes, belongs to Raisa. It’s a voice he is sure he would remember even if he had amnesia.

But why would Raisa be asking Thea if she could speak? Thea was never one to have problems with speaking. In fact, he doesn’t even recall seeing Thea to begin with.

But then the foggy mess in his brain clears gradually and he remembers more of what occurred. His assailant was particularly easy to overcome. Come think of it, they didn’t even put up a fight. That’s unlike any opponent he’s ever had before, usually they were as bloodthirsty as Oliver could be and more often than not it was sheer dumb luck that Oliver got the upper hand and made it out alive.

The man in front of him relaxes and turns back to face the direction where Raisa’s voice had come from. Not one to let opportunity windows slide when it comes to any situation, Oliver uses his pseudo-guard’s distracted stated to lean over to the side of his legs.

The nausea comes back in full force.

His mother and Raisa are kneeling on both sides of a teenage girl who was sprawled on her back. A teenage girl who Oliver very belatedly realizes is his own sister. His own, grown up, damn little sister. Thea.

It takes him a couple of attempts to get up on his feet. His whole body is trembling, not unlike it used to on a cold rainy night on Lian Yu when he had nowhere dry to hide for the night, and his breaths come out in quick, shallow gasps.

The man, who Oliver can only assume is Walter, does not look nearly as imposing to him anymore. They’re roughly the same height. His hands come up to his chest as soon as Walter makes a move to restrain him. The universal gesture for ‘I mean no harm’.

_ But the harm is already done, idiot. _

His height allows him to get a proper look at the disaster in front of him. A disaster of his own making.

His sister is leaning on her right forearm, facing their mother and her free hand is rubbing the base of her neck. Oliver can see the skin is a worrying shade of red. Thea has tears in her eyes and she’s still coughing.

Bile rises in Oliver’s throat and the four walls of the parlour that seemed so welcoming just a moment ago become like a vice around him. He feels an intense need to flee, to run away as far away as his legs could carry him.

_ Everything you touch dies _ .

He feels eyes on him and looking down he can see all three women looking at him with looks ranging from concern, to anger, to absolute terror. It’s the latter that proves too much. He can shrug off Raisa’s concern for him. He can understand and bear his mother’s anger. For the briefest of seconds, he puts himself in his mother’s shoes and feels that the glare she sends his way is a mercy. He can’t imagine not burning the offender to dust in her place. But the fear in his sister’s eyes as she looks up at him brings a chill to his bones. She’s been angry at him when they were younger, she’s been annoyed with him and given him the silent treatment occasionally. But Thea has never feared him, no matter what stupid thing he did to justify such feelings in her.

The longer he looks at Thea the harder it gets for him to breathe. Acid burns its way up his throat, his legs are barely holding him up. Oliver opens his mouth to apologize but all that come up are choked gasps.

Their staring contest is interrupted by another bout of coughing from Thea and Oliver takes advantage of this freedom she’s granted him.

He runs.

He runs out the front door and onto the grounds. He pays no attention to his surroundings, his only goal is to put as much distance between him and Thea.

His legs finally give out and the only reason he doesn’t topple face first onto the ground is that his hands wrap around a tree trunk. The bile comes back and this time Oliver lets himself throw up, wishing the dread would leave along with whatever contents are in his stomach.

He loses track of how long he stays at the base of that tree. Eventually the sun disappears behind the horizon and his surroundings are shrouded in darkness. The spot he collapses in must be quite secluded since no one comes looking for him.

The hours spent in hiding pass quickly with Oliver being overwhelmed by alternating feelings of disgust, fear, anger, self-hatred, and helplessness. That internal voice, that in a cartoon would have looked like a small devil sitting on the character’s shoulder, keeps hurling insults and accusations at Oliver. 

Incidentally, they all happen to be things Oliver agrees with wholeheartedly, such as that he shouldn’t have come back home. That he should have melted in the shadows of some far off corner of the world where his decisions couldn’t hurt anyone he loves. That the words Slade Wilson spat at him aboard the  _ Amazo _ , in his last breath, prove true yet again:  _ Everything you touch dies.  _

It doesn’t help any that he doesn’t have an “angel” to counter these arguments. He hasn’t had one for a while now. Everything good that there is about Oliver was snuffed out three years ago. It was yanked out of his being by force in order to mold him into an obedient tool.

His overwhelming instinct is to flee. He only has the clothes on his back, but then again he’s survived for so long with even less than that. His time on Lian Yu really managed to make him indifferent to inconsequential possessions. In the past he used to boast about his family’s fortune and opulent lifestyle, now – he was apathetic to it.

Then again, the thought of running out on his mother gives him pause. He doesn’t have it in him to do this to her again., especially since now he understands better than ever how she must have felt while he was lost at sea. He would include Thea in the list of people who would be concerned about his disappearance, but after earlier today he isn’t sure if his sister has any love left for him. After how he’s treated her, Oliver won’t be surprised if she never wants to see him again. Going as far as to get a restraining order against him sounds like a reasonable measure to Oliver. Hell, if he could, he would go get one for her by himself.

The thought of returning to the mansion and facing all of them fills his stomach with dread. He doesn’t want their pity or their understanding, or their indulgence. He’s not sure his heart could take their (rightful) wrath, either. So in a way Oliver realizes that he’s at an impasse. He can’t go, but he also can’t stay. Not really. If only he could stay here, wherever  _ here _ is, and avoid this confrontation…

And yet, if the past few years taught him something (aside from not trusting even his own shadow) it’s that one can’t run from his problems forever. They always catch up with him. Usually the more he put them off the worse the fallout turns out to be. Only in his current situation, Oliver couldn’t figure out anything could be worse than whatever his sister was thinking of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be some brother/sister time after that for certain. But hopefully some more Felicity before that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> * Felicity speaks Yiddish and she is very openly and very proudly Jewish in this fic. Deal with it.
> 
> Notes:   
> 1) This fic actually tells 2 stories at the same time. At first they may seem separate to you, but just stick with it. It'll make sense eventually, I promise. The "Present Day" storyline revolves around Oliver and his experiences after his return from Lian Yu. The "Past" storyline revolves around Felicity and the events that made her the way that she is in the Present. 
> 
> 2) I'm going to be alternating chapters. One Felicity, one Oliver - lather rinse repeat. The original idea was to meld the flashbacks into the main story but then the chapters get too long; the other option was to post the two as separate fics under the same series but that's just tedious to read. 
> 
> 3) I've tagged everything I can think of and if necessary I will add more tags as I go (since while I do have a general idea of where this is going, more often than not this story has its own ideas). There are graphic descriptions of mental illness (PTSD, anxiety, hallucinations etc) and of violence (blood, torture, descriptions). 
> 
> 4) Constructive criticism (especially pertaining to the mental illness and disability aspects of the story) is much appreciated. Assholes will be disregarded happily, though.
> 
> So there you go. I hope you enjoy this story.


End file.
